


Stars when you shine (you know how I feel)

by AquaMarinara



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty comes down with a fever on New Year's and needs some company at midnight, Elizabeth Cooper moves to town and Jellybean gets a new camp counselor, F/M, Multi, My collection of tumblr prompt drabbles, because I write those now, each tag will be a drabble summary, so here we go:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-08-03 13:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16327286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaMarinara/pseuds/AquaMarinara
Summary: I've been writing more and more tumblr "drabbles" that turn into 1Kthings, so I've decided to mush them all into one big collection on AO3.





	1. Elizabeth Cooper

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome! Here's where I'll be throwing all my tumblr drabbles from now on. The title for the collection comes from Nina Simone's Feeling Good, my favorite song of all time.
> 
> This first drabble was inspired by a prompt Kellie (kmlefev) sent me: “Oh so you’re the camp counselor my little sibling keeps talking about”
> 
> I took some liberties with rearranging the sentence's words, but the sentiment is still there, so I hope that counts.
> 
> See you on the flip side!
> 
> [PS: massive thank you to Dottie (dottie-wan-kenobi) for brainstorming with me and to Izzie (redundantoxymorons) and Mia (darkbughead) for beta'ing]

The first time he hears about her, it’s through the paper. Or, really, through Toni.

 

She drops the Riverdale Register next to his bowl of cereal on the coffee table after barging into the trailer the morning after the town jubilee. The town jubilee they hadn’t been invited to. 

 

The Register’s headline reads  _ Why Southside Didn’t Get a Seat at the Table: Uncovering the Prejudice Behind Mayor McCoy’s Politics _

 

And the byline:  **Elizabeth Cooper**

 

~~~

 

His mother sends him every day, but he doesn’t mind. He shuts his laptop, shoves it into the messenger bag already slung over his shoulder, and rides the bike to Sweetwater.

 

She greets him with a “you’re late” and that infamous Jones smirk, pigtails bouncing as she runs away from the rest of her campmates, all waiting to get picked up in their parents’ fancy sedans and SUVs.

 

Afterwards, they always end up at Pop’s. Two milkshakes—on the house, every time—sit in front of them while she tells him about Bobby Dorfman getting lost on their hike, or about little Emily Beavers crying over her burnt marshmallow.

 

He types away at his laptop, lips tipped up in amusement at his sister’s undying love for her day camp and the hours that she spends there every summer. She doesn’t stop blabbering until the rumble of the bike’s engine echoes in the empty lot.

 

~~~

 

The second time he hears about her, he’s down at the autoshop getting a new tire before heading out to pick up JB at the river.

 

“That Cooper, huh?” he hears Tall Boy chuckle from under the Mustang in the back.

 

“Bossy, just like her mother,” comes an amused retort.

 

“Gotta give it to her, though. The girl knows her gears.”

 

“Sure does.”

 

This time, JB greets him with a “wipe that dumb grin off your face, loser,” instead.

 

She spends the afternoon at Pop’s rambling on about her counselor who climbed the rope faster than all the other ones, rolling her eyes at him when the grin doesn’t budge.

 

~~~

 

The counselor’s name is Betty, he finds out, and JB won’t stop talking about her.

 

The next day, he finds his fingers stilled over his keyboard, too lost in today’s stories to write his own.

 

“Bobby Dorfman walked off the trail again and tripped over a root, so Betty had to go find him in the woods. He was crying so hard, too. Like he’d just found out that Santa isn’t real.”

 

“JB, hush,” he hisses before scanning the nearby booths for any innocent ears. Luckily, the diner seems uncharacteristically empty.

 

“Oh, please,” she huffs, “as if it’s a secret or something. Boys are such drama queens, I swear. You’re lucky you’re my big brother, Jug, or you’d be just as much of a loser as the rest of them.”

 

He cocks a smile at that, and reaches out to steal her fry. She’s too late in swatting his hand away. “Tell me more about Betty.”

 

“Well, for one, she’s so much cooler than you,” his sister starts, crossing her arms over her chest, and Jughead dips the fry into his milkshake with a chuckle.

 

~~~

 

The third time he hears about her, he’s walking Hotdog past Mrs. Laverty’s trailer.

 

The old woman rocks in her chair out in front of the open trailer door, brows furrowed as she stares down at the Agatha Christie novel in her hands.

 

“Elizabeth?” she calls out after a moment, and Jughead catches a glimpse of blonde in the window out of the corner of his eye as he shuffles past.

 

“Would you be a dear and bring me my spectacles from the kitchen? Then we’ll be ready for the ladies to arrive. I can’t wait for Marilyn’s take on this week’s chapter.”

 

_ An Agatha Christie book club. _

 

Hotdog yanks him towards Pickens Park before he can walk back to Mrs. Laverty’s trailer and make a fool of himself in front of the girl of his dreams.

 

It’s probably for the best.

 

~~~

 

Jellybean is nowhere to be found when he goes to pick her up the last day of camp. She isn’t waiting for him at the edge of the parking lot, or beading necklaces with Sue Ellen at the picnic table by the main cabin.

 

He nearly panics, nearly runs to find the camp director while tugging furiously at the locks of hair falling out from under his beanie, when he hears it. The squeal of his little sister, all the way from the banks of the river.

 

He follows the sound to find her bobbing up and down in the river, shrieking every time she emerges from the water only to be splashed by the blonde swimming next to her. They’re both smiling, giddy, and he hates to break that up, really, but they  _ do _ have a Pop’s date, after all.

 

“JB!” he shouts, just loud enough to catch her attention, and he watches her huff out a sigh of resignation once she’s turned around to catch his gaze.

 

“Spoil sport,” she mutters under her breath as she steps out onto the bank of the river, reaching for the dark purple towel hanging from a nearby branch.

 

He still manages to catch it.

 

So does, apparently, the blonde who emerges from the water behind his little sister– who emerges from the water behind his little sister  _ in a bikini _ . He averts his eyes.

 

“Oh, come on, JB, he’s just doing his job. You’re the big brother, I assume?” She’s turned to him, asking him, and now he’s forced to look up and meet her eyes.  _ Only _ her eyes.

 

They’re emerald green.

 

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers out, and he can feel Jellybean’s disappointment radiating out from behind him. He clears his throat. “And you must be the camp counselor my little sister keeps talking about.”

 

“Betty, meet my doofus brother Jughead,” JB finally introduces, exasperated. He doesn’t argue the point, and just sets his hand out for Betty to shake instead.

 

She laughs, eyes sparkling as she reaches to meet him halfway. “Jughead, huh? And I thought Elizabeth was bad.”

 

~~~

 

The eighth time he hears about her, they’re at Pop’s. He nearly bumps into Jellybean as she stops in the middle of the doorway, eyes zeroed in on the booth to her left.  _ Their  _ booth.

 

A blonde sits on the red pleather seat, facing away from them as she taps her fingers lightly on the table.

 

Jellybean turns, sends him a salute, and walks to the counter with a grand, “Have fun with your girlfriend, loser. I’ll be third wheeling from all the way over here.”

 

Betty turns at her voice, face lighting up with a brilliant smile, and he moves to sit next to her in the booth.

 

There isn’t much said. Or seen. His eyes close as her lips meet his, and all he can do is  _ feel. _

 

After that, he stops counting.


	2. Silver Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Betty comes down with a 102 degree fever on New Year's Eve, she's forced to spend the night in bed; with Veronica's attention drawn to the party in their living room and the redhead on her arm, Jughead Jones takes it upon himself to keep the blonde company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! How's it going? I hope the new year's been treating you well.
> 
> I've decided to use this drabble collection _thing_ as the place where I'll be dropping all of my one-shot entries for the 2019 Riverdale Writing Challenge, so here's the first one.
> 
> I'm going to keep the rating on the entire multi-chapter as teen, but that may change per chapter (aka one-shot), so I'll be sure to include the rating and any warnings before each one.
> 
> This one's teen and just a bunch of fluff. I hope you enjoy it!

 

“A bridge of silver wings stretches from the dead ashes of an unforgiving nightmare

to the jeweled vision of a life started anew.”

― Aberjhani, Journey through the Power of the Rainbow: Quotations from a Life Made Out of Poetry

  
~~~

 

She’d been looking forward to tonight—she _had_.

 

Typically, Veronica had to drag her out of the apartment at night, Betty trying to slip out of her friend’s grasp and back inside any chance she got. She’d never much been one for huge parties, especially ones hosted in frat houses with sticky floors, far too many stumbling drunk people, and lines for cheap beer out of a keg. Sure, she appreciated karaoke night at the bar a few blocks off campus every now and then, but Veronica often insisted they walk right by the place and make their way to the club instead. The grinding, the grabbing, the groping—none of it was for her. At all.

 

Tonight, though—tonight was going to be in their apartment. _A party to start the new year off right_ , Veronica had said when pitching the idea to her best friend. They’d invite nearly everyone they’d met in their seminars, the girls who lived down the hall, and—of course—Veronica’s new boyfriend Archie and his roommate.

 

Betty had put up a fight at first, but then slowly relented. She’d always been a believer in starting fresh in the new year, in throwing out her calendars and opening up a new diary to put the past year out of her mind. The new year’s diary was already stacked on top of a few library books on her desk, purple pen tucked into the mason jar of pens and pencils next to it.

 

She was ready to go, her resolutions set and goals written down. One of them—though, admittedly, not the most important one on her list—happened to be to get out more, to follow in Veronica’s footsteps and grow her social circle.

 

New York City was immense—far larger than the small suburb of Riverdale. She’d traveled into the city on occasion as a child, with it only being about an hour away from home, but living there was a completely different world. She could walk down the street to class and not recognize a single face; at first, she’d welcomed the idea of not knowing anyone and everyone’s business, of not being too close for comfort, but the loneliness had slowly become debilitating. She was alone, with nobody but Veronica and her hometown friends a phone call away.

 

She was determined to find her place in this city this year—to finally know and be known by those around her. It’ll be hard, she knows, especially for someone with as much social anxiety as herself, but the party would be the perfect first step: She’d meet Veronica’s friends, make a few of her own, and learn to enjoy conversations with a stoned frat guy.

 

That had been the plan, at least, until she wakes up with a 102 degree fever on New Year’s Eve, chills rippling through her body despite the two blankets and comforter on top of her.

 

She and Veronica had stayed up the night before decorating the apartment, throwing up a shimmering gold back drop and crafting funny accessories for a mock photo booth, hanging gold and silver streamers from wall to wall, and stringing up fairy lights to bounce off of the disco ball that Veronica had ordered online.

 

All that work for nothing. Her legs seem to triple in weight as soon as she tries to lift them, her bones sinking into the mattress. The cell phone ringing to her right must be what woke her up, as it nearly buzzes right off her nightstand. The time reads 12:06 above Veronica’s contact picture and “incoming call”, and Betty’s eyes widen at her screen. She never sleeps in this late.

 

“Hey, V,” she mumbles, her lips too swollen and hot to move more than the bare minimum.

 

“Betty!” Veronica squeals across the line. “The catering looks just divine. Jacques had me come in and check on it all before we brought it back to the apartment, and I was wondering if you’d mind clearing out the dining table for when we get there? I know I left some bills or assignments or something on there, and it’d be so amazing if you could just move them out and to my room.”

 

“I, um,” Betty coughs out, her tongue scratching against the top of her mouth like sandpaper, “I’d love to, but I can’t seem to get out of bed.”

 

“Oh Bettykins,” Veronica sympathizes, and Betty can imagine the pout on her face. “Your voice sounds absolutely horrific. And you can’t get out of bed? I knew Ginger would get one of us sick when she came over sniffling last week.”

 

“It’s not Ginger’s fault,” Betty croaks out, trying to sit up in her bed and failing miserably, only to slouch down further under the covers.

 

“No, no, of course not,” Veronica acquiesces, and Betty can hear her shuffling around the room on the other end of the line. “I’m just not sure if we should still be throwing this party tonight with you like this, that’s all.” Her voice is hard, determined, yet Betty can hear the shrill at the end of the sentence. They’d both been looking forward to tonight, to starting the new year off right with all of their friends. If Betty’s disappointed, Veronica is even more so—she was the party queen, after all, and she’d put so much time and energy into throwing the New Year’s bash to end all bashes.

 

“Don’t worry about me, Ron.” A cough jumps from her throat, aggravating it further, and Betty’s eyes water at the pain. She needs to get some water, tea, anything—even that kombucha Veronica had insisted they try but shoved to the back of the fridge after nearly gagging on her first sip. “I’ll take some Advil, finish setting the apartment up, and then head to bed as soon as the crowd gathers at the door.”

 

“You sure, B?”

 

“Positive.” She wants to reaffirm her friend further, but yet another cough pulls the air from her lungs, and Betty’s forced to turn away from the phone.

 

“Alright,” Veronica concedes, the click of her heels sounding in the background. “But don’t move until I get back, okay? I’ll get you the Advil and a ton of cough drops from the Duane Reade on Broadway on my way back.” A door slams behind her, and then, “Lord knows you need them.”

 

~~~

 

“How’s this one?” Archie asks, clipping yet another bow tie to his white button-down.

 

It looks the same as all the others: tacky, and yet like Archie’s trying too hard all at the same time.

 

“It’s a party, Arch, not the Met Gala. Who cares what you wear? Your shirt’s going to come off within forty seconds of getting there anyway.”

 

Archie sighs, pulling the clip from his shirt, and runs a hand through his slicked-back red hair. “Veronica insisted I look nice tonight, you know that. There’s this whole 20s-flappers theme that she’s got planned, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

 

He’s heard far too much already about the _enticing_ Veronica Lodge—Archie’s words, and definitely not Jughead’s—for his liking, but he’s excited to meet the heiress in person tonight. She’s sure to be a classic Holly Golightly, and Jughead’s more than intrigued by the thought of finally meeting a Capote creation in person.

 

“I’m sure the button-down alone is perfectly fine,” Jughead shrugs, tugging his own denim jacket higher up on his shoulders. He’d never been one to follow a theme, or a dress-code, and he wouldn’t be starting tonight. No matter what the self-help magazines had splattered onto their front covers in the past week, Jughead wasn’t about to start radically revolutionizing his habits with the start of the new year. He’d stick to his ages-old denim and loose suspenders, and that was that.

 

Holly Golightly would be far too busy with her redhead arm candy to even pay attention to him.

 

~~~

 

Archie and Jughead arrive first, while Veronica’s busy straightening her hair in the bathroom and Betty’s sprawled out on the white living room couch, her forehead pressed against the cool leather as her body continues to boil.

 

She knows she looks terrible, her blonde locks pulled into a loose bun by a gray scrunchie and her pastel tank-top and shorts a stark contrast to the glittery gold room behind her. She looks terrible, but she surely doesn’t look as terrible as Jughead seems to think when she pulls the heavy front door open. His eyes widen, taking her in, and Betty self-consciously rubs at the darkened bags under her eyes.

 

She clears her throat quickly, coughing slightly into her fist, and then plasters a smile across her face. “Come in,” she urges, taking a step back. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jughead.” Archie had brought his roommate up before, obviously, whenever he’d come by the apartment for dinner, but Betty had yet to meet the raven-haired man. (And, god, how luscious that raven hair was, even with the weirdly-shaped beanie covering up most of it.)

 

He merely nods, picking up on her sniffles and signals to refrain from shaking her germ-covered hand. “Nice to meet you too, Betty.”

 

“Archiekins!” Veronica squeals, stepping out of the bathroom in full glam to greet her first guests of the night. She throws her arms around his neck, leaving a cherry red lipstick print on his cheek, and then pulls back to examine his outfit. “J’adore,” she gushes, undoing a few buttons at the top to expose more of his chest. “Now it’s truly perfect. Don’t you think, B?” She turns to her friend, whose face has turned a few shades too pale from standing for so long, and Veronica’s brows knit together in worry before she’s ushering her back to the couch.

 

“I’ll be fine, V.” Betty waves her away, but still falls onto the couch pillows as her body weight pulls her down.

 

“Right,” Veronica scoffs, reaching out a hand to feel the temperature of Betty’s forehead. “Jughead, keep an eye on her, would you? I’m going to grab a damp towel from the bathroom.”

 

“Veronica,” Betty whines, dragging out the “a” at the end of her name as her eyelids flutter shut; they’re just as heavy as the rest of her, like her body’s full of lead, and it’s pulling her down into oblivion with it.

 

She reopens her eyes to her own bedroom, droplets of water from the damp towel on her forehead dripping down her cheeks, and the covers tucked around her. The bass of the club music playing from Veronica’s speakers reverbs across the walls, sending chills through her body, and Betty can feel the hairs raise on her arms. She shivers, tries to draw her knees into her chest and turn to the side, but her ears ring with the slightest of movements, and so she decides to stay put, laying straight as a log and facing the door.

 

_So much for a wonderful New Year’s_ , she frowns to herself. If this is any indicator of how next year’s going to go, Betty’s already dreading it.

 

A crash comes from outside in the hallway—someone slamming into the wall—and Betty winces at the sound.

 

A voice shouts out from the living room, words that sound like “ball drop”, and Betty groans. Midnight’s approaching much too fast for her liking, and she isn’t feeling any better than she had a few hours ago, no matter how many pills, cough drops, or naps she’s taken.

 

To top it all off, she’s been placed in quarantine in her bedroom, alone. No friends, no strangers, not even the possibility of a New Year’s kiss. She knows it would have been a long shot anyway, even if she’d been surrounded by everyone out there in the living room, but she’d still allowed herself to hope that this year would be different—that she’d finally put herself out there.

 

“Ten!” comes the first chorus of cheers, and Betty shuts her eyes against the noise. Her fingers play with the blanket on top of her, pulling at a loose thread, and Betty focuses on her breathing as they count down through the rest of the numbers.

 

“Seven!”

 

Betty braces herself. _In, out._

 

Then, her bedroom door creaks open, a curl of dark hair peaking through, and Jughead pushes the door open further to walk inside before shutting it behind himself.

 

“Five!”

 

“Hey, Betty.” He shuffles around, hands stuffed into his pockets and head tilted to the floor. “I thought you’d like some company.”

 

Her lips part, tilting upwards at the corners for the first time today, and her eyes brighten. _Someone had remembered her._ “I’d love some.”

 

“Two! One! Happy New Year!” The crackle of fireworks sounds outside her window, the cork of a champagne bottle pops, and Jughead steps closer to her.

 

“Happy new year, Betty,” he whispers, still shy despite her invitation, and Betty returns the sentiment with an even brighter smile. Her words are followed by a hacking cough, one that has her clutching at her chest, and Jughead turns to her. “Hey, uh, you need me to grab you something? Honey tea, cough drops, anything?”

 

“Tea, please,” she manages before falling back onto her pillow, head pounding. Of course whatever virus she’d caught had decided to attack her body into the new year, right in front of the one guy who had been kind enough to come into her quarantined room for her—right in front of the _very attractive_ guy who’d been kind enough to come back for her.

 

He knocks before coming in again, this time with a steaming mug of chamomile in hand, and he sets it on her nightstand before taking a step away from her and the bed. He seems nervous, wringing his hands together, and then he looks back up at her. “I thought you might want to know that Veronica and Archie left for my apartment after the countdown—just in case you were wondering where Veronica went. Don’t worry, though, because she made sure I’d be here for you if you needed anything.” He tries to smile at that, more as reassurance to himself than to her.

 

Betty releases a heavy sigh, fingers beginning to fidget all over again. “She just left?” she asks again to confirm. He nods. “How does she expect me to get these people out of here in a few hours? To clean the place up tomorrow morning?”

 

“No worries, Betts.” She feels her cheeks flush red at the nickname and bites her lip. Hopefully he’ll attribute the tomato colour of her face to the fever. “I’ll kick everyone out as soon as you say the word, and I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s day.”

 

Betty’s pretty sure Veronica will end up just sending a cleaning crew over to the apartment before they’re both up tomorrow morning, but it’s sweet of him to offer, so she flashes a quick smile, gritting her teeth against the pain that comes with the movement, and points to her closed bedroom door.

 

“I really appreciate that. Would you mind, Jug?” she asks, checking the small alarm clock on her nightstand to confirm that the party’s gone on long enough. He nods and squares his shoulders in preparation for the fight that’ll inevitably ensue as he pushes everyone out.

 

“I’m going in,” he mutters under his breath, and she lets out a light chuckle as she sinks into her pillow.

 

~~~

 

Betty wakes to a flicker of light from her desk lamp, nose congested but head no longer pounding, and sits up to grab a tissue from her nightstand. Across the room, draped across her armchair, a figure stirs, and Betty’s heart leaps into her throat, pulse pounding until she realizes that the figure’s wearing loose suspenders and a denim jacket. Jughead.

 

Her alarm sounds next to her, and Betty shuts it off before her ears start ringing again. The clock reads 9:00 a.m.

 

She stands, now able to move her limbs without feeling like they’re dead weights, and crosses the room to wake Jughead up. He must be extremely uncomfortable in that chair, body contorted to fit in the small space, and she’d rather him move to the couch, or even her bed. Betty flushes at the thought. _No, the couch._

 

“Jug,” she whispers, shaking his shoulders lightly. “You’ve got to get up. I can’t imagine the crick you’ll get in your neck with it positioned like that.” He doesn’t move. “ _Jug_ ,” she urges again, more forcefully this time.

 

“Wha…?” comes his mumbled response before he stirs awake, eyes opening slightly.

 

“Take the couch,” she insists, pulling him up, her strength apparently back.

 

“It’s so dirty.”

 

He’s right, she realizes when she opens the door out onto the hallway. The living room’s bound to look as if a tornado had passed through it the other night, the wind leaving garbage and toppling furniture as it moved along. The couch probably has a few beer stains here and there, as well as—Betty doesn’t even want to complete the thought.

 

“I’ll clean it right up for you,” she reasons, walking further only to find the room spotless. A bright pink business card sitting on the polished coffee table catches her eye, and Betty steps closer to find that it’s from Veronica’s cleaning service of choice.

 

Betty turns around to find Jughead gaping at the room, totally transformed from what Betty imagines it had looked like last night. One hand clutches at his beanie, the other fiddles with his suspender, and then he’s looking down at his feet.

 

“I stayed over to make sure you were okay, and to help you clean this morning, but it seems as if you and the apartment are better than ever.” He’s quiet after that, pausing a few seconds, and then he’s heading for the door, tugging his jacket on tighter around himself.

 

She can’t just let him leave like that, not after all that he’d done for her last night—not after she’d made her resolutions for the year. Betty Cooper was going to get out more.

 

“Jughead,” she calls out after him, walking to the front door. “Thank you for last night.”

 

“You’re welcome, Betty, but really, it was no problem.”

 

He’s about to step outside now, but her hand shoots out to land on his forearm, and he stops. “I guess, uh, now that we don’t have to clean anymore, we’ve both got a few hours to kill. Does coffee sound okay?” She chews her lip, deciding once and for all to dive in head first. “How about that little café on the corner of West 4th and Mercer?”

 

His lips stay sealed for a few seconds after that, and Betty’s heart sinks. Either she’d totally misread the situation, or—

 

“I’d love to, Betty.”

 

She looks up from her shoes, eyes widening as a smile breaks out on her face. “Really?”

 

“Really.” He steps out the door now, heading for the elevator, and Betty gives out a nervous laugh.

 

“I’ve just got to go get dressed.” She points to the tank-top-and-shorts ensemble that she’s still wearing from last night, and his eyes immediately shoot down to his feet, shy again.

 

“You, uh, look incredible as is, but I guess you should probably change. It’s winter in New York, after all.”

 

She smiles at him, reaching out for his hand to drag him back into the apartment, and holds up a finger to indicate that she’ll only be a second before running back to her room.

 

The door shuts closed behind her, and Betty releases a breath as she leans against it, her heart beating quickly in her chest. What a way to start the year.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any questions, comments, concerns, or reviews down below. I'd love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> Also, for the works that are part of the Riverdale Writing Challenge, any concrit is welcome. I'm taking part in the project to try and grow as a writer (as I am with pretty much every other piece I write, but that's beside the point), so constructive criticism is definitely welcome in the comments. As long as it's not a complete bashing, because, you know, that's not constructive in any way.
> 
> Much love! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Please leave any questions, comments, concerns, or reviews below.
> 
> Kisses! <3


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